The Unimaginable Helplessness of Integrity
by remitto
Summary: "Sometimes, Malfoy, I don't know who you are." She said, wistfully wiping away the frost on the windows. He chuckled softly, "That's the whole point isn't it? You're not supposed to figure me out."
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. If I did, Fred and Tonks and Remus and Sirius would all be alive.

* * *

**Prologue**

* * *

Sometimes, she felt as if she could stare at nothing for undetermined amounts of time. There was something in completely emptying her mind and watching the chaos around her slowly blur that gave her an odd sense of peace and clarity.

It was moments like these, she thought, that would ultimately be the demise of her character.

Ever since the passing of her mother she found herself doing absolutely nothing and staring at nothing more often. And that bothered her to no end. She _never _did _nothing. _Her hands were always itching to turn pages of an old book, to fiddle with her hair, to write an essay. Now, they lay limply in her lap, motionless, still. It was moments like these where she both admonished herself for her lack of productiveness yet appreciated the quietness that could be found when she drew within. It was an oddly calming sensation, and though she would never admit it, deeply spiritual too.

She glanced briefly at the small clock perched idly on her desk. The hour hand quivered as it struck 9. Curfew would be in an hour and she had yet to patrol. Crankily slipping out of her silent reverie, she slipped on her robe and exited her room with a quiet click of the door. Her feet padded gently against the plush carpet of the common room and she took a minute to look smugly upon the sign that was pinned to the door. _Heads._

To be truthfully honest with herself, she didn't particularly mind sharing close quarters with the Head Boy. Draco Malfoy had become a quiet, solemn boy who rarely conversed with anyone except his closest friends (Blaise, Pansy) and who ate his own insults upon developing them. She figured that the war had changed everyone, but she didn't think that he would change _this _much. It was disturbing.

As she waited impatiently by the door, tapping her foot incessantly against the frame, she pondered about her silent neighbour. Secretly, she had wished for more heated and sparring rows between the two of them. It was a good way to distract her from missing her mother, and to get back at the bloody ferret for all the years of ceaseless taunting. They gave her a wild sense of _drive_.

_I'm certainly going completely barmy_, she thought, _Malfoy, of all people! _Her thoughts were interrupted by the unquestionable Malfoy drawl.

"Granger, tap your foot one more time and I swear to Merlin, I will personally see to hexing each and every one of your shoes. Is that understood?"

Ah, this was more like it.

"Not at all. I don't take orders from snarky ferrets. And had you been here five minutes earlier I wouldn't have started tapping my foot!" she snapped.

The guy had the audacity to smirk! "Suit yourself, Granger." She continued to glare at him darkly from under her lashes. He sighed forcefully. "When you're done eye-fucking me, could we get on with the patrol?"

Spluttering in anger (and a little bit of happiness at the fact that he had reverted somewhat to his normal self), she purposefully stomped out of the dormitory and into the doorway, not waiting to hear his inaudible harrumph.

Although annoyed, she couldn't deny that they worked surprisingly well together (stemming from the fact that they only talked out of necessity and even then it was fairly minimal), and the night passed so quickly she hadn't even realised an hour had gone until they both arrived back at the dorms.

For some strange reason, however, the action of standing in front of the closed door waiting for it to open only did too well to reopen fresh memories of her mother's death. She had stood like this, not four weeks ago, in front of her parent's home, waiting with bated breath as her father opened the door. Her hands trembled as she pushed through the door - had her hands trembled back then too? Sighing inwardly and letting her shoulders slump a little, she walked into the dormitory, her previous thrill from insult sparring disappearing like the window frost on a sunny day.

Harry and Ron had tried their best to get her to talk a little more, to open up a little more, but they didn't understand. Talking about it was like pouring salt over an exposed wound, excruciating to bear and agonising to remember. She didn't blame them though. It was the duty of best friends and all that. They were only boys; it was easy for them to be insensitive.

Ginny had approached the topic with a lot more care and sensitivity. She rarely questioned Hermione, only gave her the occasional sad smile and tight embraces. She took her out more often, forced her to eat properly, and mothered her in the way only Ginny could. It was nice, she thought. That feeling of being looked after, of being taken care of.

Malfoy seemed to notice that she was in a particularly tender mood this evening, and left her to her own thoughts with simply a, "Get some sleep, Granger." She was thankful for his understanding yet irked by his kindness.

Flopping down on her pillow, she let a few stray tears escape.

"Mum," she croaked, "Come back."

* * *

He had noticed the way her eyes would fog over as if remembering something from a distant memory. He had noticed her slumped shoulders, tired expression and slower walk. What pained him most (although he would never admit it) was that the fire that he had once seen in her glittering eyes was now replaced by something akin to longing and despair. Her arguments held no spite, her smile was a little forced, and she even appeared to answering fewer questions in class.

What also unnerved him to no end was the fact that he had begun thinking about her more frequently at odd times of the day. It was something to do with the pitiful look she held on her face that made him want to seek her out and shake some fire back into her. He found that in a crowded room, his eyes would somehow drift to search for that unmistakable wild hair, hoping to catch a glimpse of her thin frame.

_I'm going insane, _he thought_, completely insane!_ _This is Granger for Merlin's sake!_

And yet, he couldn't help but tell himself that Granger had grown up. He'd seen the changes in her stance, face, hair for the past couple of years. That childish face of hers had matured into something possessing grace and elegance, but with the years, she had somehow lost her smile. She had also grown a considerable amount too; no longer was she trailing behind Potter and Weasel now, her height almost equalled that of Potter's, and that was saying something.

The girl was a complete enigma, and try as he may, he couldn't shake the fact that he no longer despised her and felt a need to understand her instead.

Surprising, but not odd.

The war did things to people that were inexplicable. His father had begun feeling the first pangs of remorse (which surprised him beyond belief), and his mother had taken to becoming a steely woman. And here he was, struggling to accept the fact that he was now _concerned _with the wellbeing of his prudish neighbour. The startling realisation made him pull a face.

_Merlin, I'm going bloody soft._

A faint tapping could be heard and he plastered a scowl over his face and rolled off the bed. Throwing a quick glance at his clock confirmed his suspicions – it was time for patrol and Granger was bloody annoyed at his tardiness.

"Granger, tap your foot one more time and I swear to Merlin, I will personally see to hexing each and every one of your shoes. Is that understood?" he barked.

She threw him a disgusted look, "Not at all. I don't take orders from snarky ferrets. And had you been here five minutes earlier I wouldn't have started tapping my foot!" she snapped.

Smirking in what seemed like triumph (he had gotten the bloody woman angry, that would make any of his days happy), he replied nonchalantly, "Suit yourself, Granger", when she continued to stare at him like he was the very gum beneath her shoes, he sighed forcefully, "When you're done eye-fucking me, could we get on with the patrol?"

At this her cheeks flamed and she spluttered with anger. Managing to somehow regain some dignity and stopping herself from looking like a blundering Ron Weasley, he watched amusedly as she purposefully stomped out the door without another word. He gave himself a silent fist pump and trailed after her stomping footsteps.

The spat did not last long however, and he could quickly see the effects wearing off her faster than it had ever done before. Within minutes she had reverted back to her changed self, head slightly bowed, gratingly silent, and ridiculously efficient. As they turned the last corner of the patrol he stole a glimpse her way and noticed that the foggy, clouded look had gone over her eyes again. Something strange seemed to tighten in his chest as he heard her sigh sharply and rub her eyes. _I need to get that checked out_, he pondered, _I could have a heart attack and die!_

As they neared the door to the common room, he noticed that she had stopped in front of the door and was staring at it somewhat strangely. _Weird_, he mused. Just before he was going to snap some snide response about her not knowing how to open a door, she pushed it open with trembling hands (did he just say _trembling?_) and entered the common room. She stood still in the middle of the carpet, that foggy look still present in her eyes, and his chest tightened just that bit more when he saw her shoulders slump even further.

Before he could rationalise with himself, his mouth began moving of its own accord."Get some sleep, Granger."

Startled with himself, he quickly turned away and almost sprinted up to his bedroom, both alarmed and surprised with his words of reassurance. Malfoy's did _not _do sympathy and concern. That much was clear. End of the line. Finished.

_Bloody woman, moping about like her mother's dead or something. _

But the more he decided against it, the more his body decided to betray him as he found himself traipsing back down to the common room again, standing awkwardly in front of her closed door. He was about to open it and shout some rude remark to her face to make that funny feeling in his chest go away, when he heard a quiet – yet definitely audible – flow of choked words that made him stop in his tracks and reassess the entirety of his stupidity and foolishness.

"Mum. Come back."

* * *

A/N: First chapter is up! Read and review, let me know what you think. Hate it? Love it? I want to know!

remitto xx


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. But oh, how I wish I did! (rolls around in pretend money. hey, a writer can dream eh?)

A/N: A huge shout out to LC for helping me when I was brain-dead and stuck with writer's block in the middle of the night.

* * *

**Chapter One**

* * *

"Honestly Draco, would you bloody stop staring at the chit."

What?

"Like now, whilst we're all eating. Oh, what joy! You're not listening."

Couldn't the guy tell he was thinking? Thinking was a deep matter, peering into ones soul, discovering the intricacies of the universe, developing apathetic insinuations, reflecting upon ones moralistic obligations. It was a mind-wracking process.

"Draaaco."

Turning the full force of his supposed telekinetic stare onto the offender, he shot him his most menacing scowl.

"Blaise, I'm not in the mood."

Blaise let out a hearty chuckle that reverberated around the table. A few heads perked up to see the commotion but were unsatisfied with the seemingly boring conversation.

"But you're obviously in the mood for Granger then aye?" He laughed again, clutching his stomach for good measure.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Yeah, whatever mate. I was thinking." He spat, chugging down the rest of his pumpkin juice. He winced as the cold liquid sloshed down his throat and settled like a lump of ice in the pit of his stomach. It did not aid his stormy mood.

Blaise smirked on, amused. "Sure you were. You also lie like a three-year old boy who got caught with the ice-cream. Now tell me, what's so interesting about Granger that's got you in a hissy?"

His lip curled back into a snarl. "Nothing, now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go and act like an adult somewhere else." Forcefully giving Blaise one last shove, he briskly left the Great Hall, footsteps echoing loudly through the room, Blaise's laugh following him like a curse.

It wasn't like he was daydreaming about her. Sure, he may have looked, but it had been a cold stare at nothing and she happened to be in the way. He reminded himself that it was purely circumstantial. Yet no matter how many excuses he made, he couldn't resist watching on intrigued as she isolated herself from her two Boy Wonders and fidgeted with a lock of hair, a book balanced precariously in her left hand. As she read, her brow had furrowed as if deep in thought, and a small tongue darted out to wet her parched lips. She would glance up once in a while, smile at the Weaselette, look around the hall, and set to reading diligently again.

It was amazing, he thought, watching Granger in her natural environment. He noted with great astonishment that the scowl that had permanently embedded on her face whenever she talked to him wasn't present. He had simply come to the conclusion that she was a prudish – albeit witty – school-marm girl, incapable of being normal and 'part of the group'. He almost felt silly; she may have been a muggle-born but she was still human, therefore, perfectly capable of feeling emotions other than anger or ambition (which he thought was quite surprising, as he had always seen her either with a book or admonishing her friends).

As her eyes looked up to glance around the hall again, they had fallen briefly on his. She appeared startled for a second, and when he did not look away, she simply lifted an eyebrow and continued to read. _Quite, _he thought, _intriguing. _

He reflected upon his findings as he walked back up to his dormitories to settle down for the night. The past few weeks had progressed slowly, which gave him much time to observe his fellow Head and to draw upon his realisations. Something was troubling her. That, he knew. She would smile less and often look out of a window for long lengths of time as if contemplating the mysteries of the universe. Sometimes, he would see her simply sitting on the common room couch and staring at the crackling flames. Once, he even caught her dozing off in class. And that was scary.

The previous night flickered back into his memory. _Merlin, _he had forgotten.

So it had been her mother then? Was it an accident? A terminal illness? A murder? _Listen to yourself Draco, _his mind scolded him, _harping on some worthless chit's family's trouble. What are you, a hufflepuff?_

He scowled again. A guy could be curious, couldn't he? And besides, all her moping was starting to affect him as well. He would often get these weird sensations in his chest whenever he heard her sigh or slump her shoulders - almost like a painful tightening that seemed to constrict his throat and pull at his heartstrings.

A sharp rapping at the window disturbed him from his thinking. Angrily huffing, he made his way over to the window and retrieved a small package from a tawny brown owl. _Odd, _he thought. He wasn't expecting anything of the sort, and if the War taught him anything, it was that one should always be suspicious of anonymous small packages.

Casting a charm over the neatly wrapped parcel to check for hexes, he was calmed when it proved to be perfectly harmless.

Attached to the package was a small note, written with what seemed like either an incredibly inky quill or a disastrously incapable writer. _Probably the latter, _he thought, unable to keep his smug smirk at bay. With incredible difficulty, he read:

"Monday the 21st of June. Do not touch. Open at your own risk."

The instructions were concise and held a level of reverence to it that suggested that the writer was of an educated background (which didn't explain the handwriting, but, hey, weirder things had happened).

Letting his curiosity get the better of him, he gingerly picked up the package and began tearing off the wrapping with explicit care, making sure to keep his hand perfectly covered by the sleeves of his jumper. When the package was finally completely unwrapped, he stared with a quirked eyebrow at the object.

It was a key.

He almost rolled his eyes at the clichéd-ness of it all. A bloody sodding key! He was too old for philosophical subtleties in objects that in the end proved completely worthless. This rusty old key was probably some long-lost family heirloom which would unlock some hidden Gringotts vault that contained all his father' s sentimental rubbish about blood supremacy and all that jazz (preferably it'd be galleons but one had to be a little more realistic in this day and age).

Resisting the urge to toss the key into the bin and get back to his daily moping, he forced himself to re-wrap the parcel with the utmost care, tie up the string which held it together, and reattach the note. He then proceeded to put the entire package into his bottom cabinet drawer, and flopping down on his bed once more, closed his eyes in the hopes that he would forget completely.

A sharp knock on the door roused him once more (what was it _now?_), and growling in complete annoyance, he stomped over to the door and pulled it back so roughly that it almost snapped back on its hinges.

"What?!"

His temper transformed into confusion when he found himself looking into a wide-eyed, rather startled Granger.

She cleared her throat shakily. "Well hello to you as well, Malfoy."

Re-plastering his scowl back on, he demanded gruffly, "What do you want?"

The question seemed to bring it all back home for Granger, as he watched bemusedly as her eyebrows knitted together and her forehead furrowed in anger. She shoved a lumpy parcel into his hands and raised an eyebrow.

"Well? Care to explain why I have received an anonymous package that has barmy instructions and a note that says "Ask Draco?"

His heart thumped erratically and his mouth suddenly seemed to go very dry at the sound of his own name being uttered by her. There was that funny feeling again, the one where his entire chest seemed to be tightening and his throat constricted almost painfully. He shook it away and made a mental note to visit Madam Pomfrey _promptly. _

"Do you remember the type of owl by any chance?"

The question seemed to catch her off guard. "W-what? Owl? Erm, long feathers, tawny-ish brown in colour, ridiculously rude, look at the nasty bite it left on m- hang on. What's this got to do with anything?"

He sighed lethargically. "I received a package too. I was just trying to double-check if the same owl sent it to us – which would ultimately mean that it came from the same sender."

"Huh." She commented. "Weird." Regathering herself, she continued. "Inside are two potion bottles and a rusty old lock. Here." She handed him a flimsy torn off piece of parchment. "The instructions."

It was written with the same inky – splotchy three-year-old handwriting.

"For use when in need. Take a swig or nothing at all."

In need of _what?_ "I'll admit, Granger. You've got it far worse." Flipping the note over in his hands, he noted with incredulity that hers made no mention of 'do not touch' or any sort of date whatsoever. What scared him even more was the tiny writing squeezed into the corner of the parchment which read 'Ask Draco.' How was he supposed to know anything? He was a student, not Dumbledore.

"Did you also say that there was a lock?"

She looked up from where she was fiddling with the hem of her sweater (which he noted was awfully frayed and almost turned up his nose in disgust). "Yeah?"

He paused to think for a moment, quickly running through the pros and cons of having Hermione Granger see his room (Pro: she'd be impressed with his ability to keep a tidy room. Con: she would see that he'd labelled one of his drawers as 'Underwear.' Not that anybody knew that. Geez).

Finally coming to turns with his inner turmoil, he spoke. "I think you should come and see something."

* * *

xxx

* * *

She hesitated before stepping over the threshold to his room. It wasn't like it was booby-trapped or anything, but the idea still rendered her a little bit surprised. Never before had she believed that she would one day be stepping into Draco Malfoy's room on her own terms - didn't he _shag _people in here? Wasn't he supposed to have been brewing up evil plans to help the Dark Lord in this space?

He seemed to have noticed her hesitation and rolled his eyes at her. "You fought Voldemort. I don't think my room could quite equal his prowess in all things bad."

Glaring daggers at him, she stepped over the threshold and closed the door with a soft click. She was impressed, however, at the general cleanliness of the place; Harry and Ron's shared dormitory was positively _filthy _and there wasn't an inch of floor space that wasn't covered with dirty robes or school work. She was also taken aback by the quiet masculine quality that the place held – Malfoy had a good sense of style, and blushing slightly, she noted that his carpet _did _match the drapes (although whether or not that was done intentionally…she didn't want to go there). What surprised her most wasn't the fact that his room was clean and he had style, but the family photographs that were perched on his bedside table.

She picked up the nearest photo and examined it with disbelieving eyes. It had obviously been taken a while back, for he looked barely five years old, and the scowl that was now secured on his face was replaced by something akin to wonder and delight as he chased a charmed kite that was floating inches in front of him. His mother was in the background, sitting on a marble bench and watching her son with the same love and affection that her mother had once shown when she looked at her. She was suddenly overcome with emotion and struggled to keep the tears at bay – she _would not _and _could not _cry in front of Draco Malfoy.

Taking a glance back at him, she saw the helplessness and innocence of a boy who had matured into something unique. And with a stupefying clarity she came to understand everything. Draco Malfoy was a boy who had been hardened by false ideals and who had been forced to grow up quickly. Now he was caught in between – too old to be a boy, too young to be a man – and desperately seeking that care and devotion that had once been ever present in his life. Draco Malfoy was someone who didn't _ask _to be conceited and spoilt and mean – he simply embraced it without looking back because it was the thing to do. And if doing it meant getting care and devotion (albeit a different kind) then he would do it. Eventually necessity became habit, habit became character, and for a short while in sixth year, character became destiny.

She then realised that all this time it had been _easy _to hate Draco Malfoy, but she hadn't chosen the easy way out. It dawned on her that all those years of 'hating' him was actually just deep-seeded pity for a boy who could not make decisions for himself. Now, as she stood in Draco Malfoy's personal space and stared at his photographs, she couldn't help but empathise with him - the pity had suddenly gone, for she found herself in a similar situation. Motherless, loveless, and quite alone.

She eyed the boy in the second photograph. This was taken a while after the first photo, for the young boy had grown up to become an adolescent. There was something similar to collective composure in his eyes and his face was steely. Gone was the smile - this boy now had the face of someone who had been blinded by ignorance and was now slowly becoming aware of reality. A firm hand lay on his shoulder. Lucius Malfoy had his chin tilted up and was glowing with pride, whilst Narcissa Malfoy sat next to Draco, the corners of her mouth dipping slightly southward and her eyes reddening with tiredness.

This was too much, she felt. Two photographs had almost completely revealed to her the entirety of Draco Malfoy's childhood and the reasons for his demeanor - the discovering was heavy to the point of almost crushing her and she brusquely placed the framed photos back on his bedside table. She was still teary from the previous photo (oh how she _longed _for her mother right now!), and proceeded to carefully wipe away any evidence of crying before she turned to face him.

Putting on her brightest smile, she looked at him with new eyes. He had grown up, that was for sure. And although his lips had been set into a firm line and his jaw was engaged, his eyes held a level of vulnerability and sincerity whenever he spoke to her and his words had lost their sharp edge. He was taller than she remembered him being and was embarrassed that she had only just noticed. The hair on his head was no longer slicked back, but lay feathery across his forehead in wisps of platinum. Had they been born in different circumstances, she truly believed that they could have been great friends, if not more.

"So, are you going to show me what you received or not?"

* * *

xxx

* * *

"So, are you going to show me what you received or not?"

He was taken aback by the lightness of her tone, the civility in her smile, and the sight of it startled him so much that he was rendered useless for at least ten seconds before replying.

"O-oh. Yeah. Sure." His voice sounded foreign to his ears, since when did he become a shaky, stuttering mess just by looking at a girl? _Absurd, _he thought. _Absolutely absurd!_

Reaching over he pulled out his bottom drawer and retrieved the package. "It's smaller than your parcel." He dug around in his pockets and found the note. "Here. Instructions."

She read the words slowly and he could've sworn she muttered something along the lines of, "Merlin, this is worse than Ron's chicken scratchings." Smirking to himself, he tried to imagine the poor girl trying to read an entire essay of Weasley's handwriting. _Pure torture, _his mind commented. _Pure torture._

"Alright, so the instructions are clear enough. I have no idea what the date means though, if anything we should wait until the 21st and see if anything out of the ordinary happens." She turned over the small package in her hands, weighing it in the palm of her hand. "What's in it?"

Yet again, he was surprised at the friendliness in her tone and noted that all annoyance and anger that she had for him had dissipated, and from the point of view of a third party observer, it would appear that she had been his friend all along, which was an interesting concept all in itself. _I'm going insane. Granger? Friends? Please Draco, don't kid yourself._

"A key." Her eyes widened as the realisation dawned on her.

"And I have a lock..." She began frantically pacing around in his room, brow furrowed in concentration. Suddenly, her head snapped back up and her face resembled that of her usual expression. "I know what this is! I think it's a portkey - I read somewhere that there was a specific kind of portkey, made for the specific use of two individuals working together. This was to allow that no more than two people could portkey to the mystery destination. The most common forms of this portkey were a flower with a matching vase, a candle and a matchstick, and in our case, a key and a lock.

"As for the date, it's probably the deadline for the portkey. After the 21st it'll most likely be of no use to us, and that would be _really _anticlimactic."

He contemplated the matter at hand. The 21st was two days away, which would leave them only 48 hours to decide whether or not this was an adventure worth taking. He felt and odd thrill at the idea of taking the plunge without knowing all the facts and details. It excited him a great lot, but he kept it hidden for fear of Granger unleashing the full force of anger on him.

"And the potions?"

She furrowed her brow again, and he found that her bottom lip would protrude slightly when she did so. It was, quite terrifyingly, _cute._ "No idea. I reckon it'll be there to help us should we run into trouble or anything. It's odorless _and _colourless so for all we know it could be water."_  
_

His stomach did a miniature flip-flop at the words 'us' and 'we'. It wasn't that he was happy that she had semi-agreed to come with him to this _thing__,_ but the fact that she acknowledged that they were both going to be in it together, whether they liked it or not, and accepted that fact for what it was. _Stop this Draco, _his mind reprimanded, _you're turning into a girl! _And for the first time that evening, he whole-heartedly agreed with his brain. If he wasn't careful with his thoughts, he would eventually start growing breasts and a vagina soon.

"Right." he said, at last. "What are we going to do?"

She seemed to ponder his question in detail, tapping her foot lightly against the bedpost and pouting slightly. "Give me a couple of minutes." As soon as the words had left her mouth, she had bound down the stairs and was disappearing into her room again.

True to her word, she was back in his bedroom before the minute was up, a small beaded bag clutched tightly in her hand.

"I used this all throughout last year when Harry, Ron and I were on the run. Nifty little thing, this bag - I can fit entire ladders in here!" As if sensing his confusion, she whispered, "Undetectable Extension Charm. Works a treat."

Taking a minute to marvel at her intelligence (it wasn't everyday that eighteen-year-olds were able to produce an Undetectable Extension Charm. From hearsay, he knew that UEC's were extremely difficult to learn and required 110% concentration to be able to produce. As soon as he had finished marvelling, his moment of awe had been quickly replaced by uncertainty and confusion as the full extent of her words sank into him.

"You mean - you want us to - I mean - I thi-"

"Yeah." she said softly. "Yeah I think we should do it."

He stared at her, confused. "What, you mean _now?_"

She rolled her eyes at him. "Well when else will we have the time? Do we need to discuss this over a tea party? I've left a viable excuse in my bedroom that _should _clear us for two weeks if we need it." When he made no effort to agree or disagree, she sighed. "Come _on, _Malfoy. It'd be good. We need a break from school anyway. It's getting a bit much."_  
_

Slumping in defeat, he carefully picked up the key with his thumb and forefinger. Since when did Granger become so carefree? The rusty metal felt hot in his touch, and he could've sworn that it was pulsing. He watched as she lifted up the matching lock to level up with the key, and without thinking too much (or else he would come to regret this) he slid the key in.

"Whatever happens, I'm blaming you Granger."

She smirked, quite a good one at that, and continued. "Sure, sure. Lighten up."

With shaking fingers, he turned the key. Quickly making a last minute grab for the potion bottles and note, they heard the click as the key turned in place, and in a dizzyingly terrifying moment of anticipation, they were gone.

* * *

xxx

* * *

A/N: That was fun. I'll admit Draco is being very OCD at the moment, but don't fret. The snarky ferret that we all love and cherish will be making a return soon.

As always, please review! The more you review, the faster I update!

Until next time, remitto xx


	3. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. If I did...

* * *

**Chapter Two**

* * *

With an almost sickening thud, they landed in a patch of forest too dark and too dense to be English in any way, shape or form. Hastily untangling himself from a rather nasty clutch of vines, he made his way over to a clearer patch of land and looked upwards. Tall pines towered towards the sky, allowing only slivers of fading sunlight to slice through the trees and make corridors of shadows on the forest floor. A slow shiver began to creep its way up his spine and he tried to shake all thoughts of the forbidden forest from his mind.

A rustling beside him put him on edge as his hands fumbled to point his wand at the intruder.

"Put that thing down, Malfoy. It's me." Said a very disgruntled and unruly Hermione Granger as she pulled out all sorts of shrubbery from her maniacal hair.

It was at that moment that a lone wolf let out a distant and melancholy howl. The hair on his neck stood on end and he spun around so quickly he was sure he cracked his spine. She snickered behind him.

"Scared, huh?"

He scowled and huffed behind her.

"Well what about you Granger? This was your bloody idea. We're stuck in a forest God knows where and there's a wolf on the prowl, which I can bet, is probably starving. I'm not exactly a happy chap at the moment. Not to mention I'm perpetually - well for the time being anyway - stuck with the most infuriating woman on the planet. What do you say? Am I right or am I right?"

He watched her warily as she started casting spells around the area, his monologue ignored for the time being. Her wand emitted strange blue sparks and she was murmuring indistinct words, of strange foreign terms that had squashed syllables and guttural vowels.

"Would you mind telling me what you're doing?"

She raised a solitary finger to silence him. "Shh.."

After a couple more complicated flicks and swishes of her wand, the blue sparks joined together and formed a somewhat poorly drawn map of England.

"Odd." she stated. "It says we're still in Hogwarts."

It took a while for him to retrieve his jaw from the ground and swallow his awe. He couldn't recall learning anything of that degree of difficulty during school, "W-Where did you, I mean...there were blue sparks and then...how...what?"

"Last year. On the run. I found this charm in one of Aberforth's books. Don't tell Harry - he doesn't know I went snooping around."

She turned around to face him, curls bouncing. "Nifty little trick, eh?"

After processing his brief lapse of sanity (never in his life had he been so appalled by his behaviour. Gaping at her like a fish, right, like _she _needed any reminding of how smart she was), he continued angrily. He also noted that she said 'nifty' a lot. Figures. As if that giant brain of hers couldn't think of any more words.

"Well does this look like Hogwarts to you? Last time I checked, Hogwarts didn't have a pine forest, nor did it have any wolves." As if on cue, a long, drawn out howl was heard again, echoing in the distance. "That's right, need I remind you that there is a _wolf _out there potentially looking for some dinner?"

She began rummaging through her bottomless bag again, deep in thought. "Are you always like this when you're out of your comfort zone? Panicky, pessimistic, annoying? To be frank with you_,_ I haven't seen you like this since last year. I thought you'd grown up or something." She mused.

The off-handed reference to his previous ways seemed to still have repercussions on the both of them. There was shift in mood, a change in atmosphere. The silence that followed was uncomfortable and there was an almost tangible awkwardness that floated in the air. Yet there was something in the way in which she seemed to smile fondly at the memory that had his chest tightening and his throat constricting again. Like last year never happened. Like there had been some sort of truce between the two of them. Like they shared something that no one else knew about (_which we don't, _his mind added).

"Are you - in that infuriating roundabout way of yours - trying to call me immature? Woman, you don't even-"

"If I have to put up with this bumbling cowardly mess of you for the foreseeable future I would appreciate some silence from time to time. You almost seemed _happy _back at Hogwarts!"

Was it truly not ten minutes ago since they had left? And he did – for a second, back in his room – feel happy. It had been a while since he had felt the sheer exhilaration of the unknown and the excitement of embarking on a journey. It was strange that it had come to her attention though, not many people knew how to read him. For the most part, he came off as indifferent and cold and people treated him that way too. Her scolding, no matter how grating, was refreshing.

"Technically we're still in Hogwarts, according to your map thing." He said, wandering around the area.

"Ever the cocky one, aren't you?" she called over to him. "And get back over here. Lend me a hand."

The way she said the word 'lend' did funny things to his chest all over again. It seemed like such an affectionate term and was said with such maternal grace that for a while, he imagined her in her home, during Christmas, decorating the Christmas tree, her mother fondly asking her daughter to lend her hand. She would then smile brightly and comply, not before commenting on how excited she was and/or the beauty of the tree.

That's when it struck him. Her mother – maybe going on this barmy adventure with him was just another way of trying to let her go. Maybe she wasn't really doing this because she enjoyed his presence and decided it would be fun to crack a riddle with him. Who was he kidding anyway? She never enjoyed his presence and he never enjoyed hers. End of story. Every minute spent in her company was turning him into deeper shades of Hufflepuff and he didn't like it at all. _That's enough, _he reprimanded himself. _Get a grip._

"Pretentious bitch," he muttered under his breath, "What do you want?"

She turned around to face him with a smile that was so friendly that he had to almost (_almost_) force himself to scowl.

"We're going to set up camp. The tent's in the corner over there. I'm going to fetch some wood."

"Set up – what do you mean, set up camp? We can't just stay here! There are _wolves_."

Her laughter bounced off the pines in the wood. "You have a wand. It would be wise to exercise your magical ability once in a while."

He frowned and muttered angrily under his breath as she casually mocked him from the distance. He had never set up his own tent before. It was always done by an insignificant other. The small package in his hands was as foreign to him as muggle semantics and he was suddenly quite ashamed at his spoilt upbringing.

After what seemed like ten laborious minutes, she came back, sleeves rolled, cheeks pink, a light sheen of sweat glistening on her brow. He felt a snarky comment on the tip of his tongue about the way she looked positively medieval but he couldn't bring himself to say it. As she stepped into a fading shaft of sunlight, her face caught the light and it was almost _radiating. _He shook his head in disgust. _Seriously? Radiating? What's gotten into you Draco?__  
_

"Don't know how to set up a tent Malfoy? This is new."

He scoffed. "Enlighten me, oh conceited one."

She laughed, the sound tinkering off into the wood. He hadn't seen her laugh this many times throughout the whole year, and if he were honest with himself, he wanted to hear it again. And again and again.

"Watch out Malfoy, soon you'll be painting a self-portrait. Conceited? Pretentious bitch? Come on, don't deny your middle names."

He opened his mouth and closed again, horrified at his inability to conjure a witty comeback from his oh-so sophisticated mind.

"You can set it up with magic, it's a lot faster that way, but I like doing it the muggle way. It's a whole lot more complicated and definitely more confusing, but that's what I love about the whole process." She continued, disregarding his scowl.

There it was again, that reference to her childhood, to her mother, to memories he would possibly never come to know or understand.

"Tell me Granger, are you a masochist? I don't think there is a single person on the planet - not even the muggles - that enjoy setting up a tent."

She smiled slightly to herself. "No. But I am a firm believer in tradition. We used to go camping every summer." She handed him two odd metal stake things, "Here, the poles. Thread them through that pocket thing there – that's right, all the way to the end, well done!"

Her tone was so sickeningly patronising that he felt the need to applaud her (in his mind, of course).

"Don't baby me Granger. What are you going to do next? Plant a kiss on my forehead and give me a gold star?"

She smiled softly again, setting up another pole and threading it through. 'The less you complain, the faster we get this done and the sooner you'll be safe and sound from that very, _very_ hungry wolf."

He felt his palms grow clammy and his heart rate quicken at the mention of the wolf. Not only was she patronising him, she was ridiculing him. Having a fear of wolves was perfectly logical. One's instincts would be awfully warped if they stood in the presence of a wolf and did not fear. Hence why Potter was so infuriatingly _stupid. _Not to mention ugly, short, nosy...

"I told you to lighten up Malfoy. I'm setting up a tent with _you _and you don't hear me complaining. We both agreed to do this, the least you can do is show _some - _even a little bit will do - enthusiasm.

That was his turn to bark out a bitter laugh. "Enthusiasm? Listen to yourself Granger, do I seem like an enthusiastic person to you? I don't do on-the-spur-of-the-moment camping. I'd much prefer to go and mope in some dark corner somewhere."

Somehow, despite his constant jabs and taunts throughout the day, she seemed to be hurt the most by the previous statement. Her eyes lowered slightly towards her hands and she let out a quiet sigh. Her focus on setting up the tent increased and the slight bend that her shoulders had grown accustomed to deepened slightly.

Then he felt it again - that guilt he'd been experiencing over the past couple of days. He was beginning to _empathise _and it unnerved him to no end. She had been nothing if not amiable to him the past hour - something which came across nothing short of surprising when considering their history - and he was, he hated to admit, being a complete arsehol-

_Stop it, _his mind scolded, _that's enough niceness for today. _

"I'm sorry. If it's any consolation, I did want to do this. I'm just not used to...cooperating." His mouth moved of its own accord before rational thought could stop him and he was momentarily stunned at his own response.

She didn't look up from where she was intently driving a stake into the ground, but the corners of her mouth did lift a little. "That's nice to hear." She stood up abruptly, wiping the dirt on her hands on her faded jeans.

"You can go in, get your stuff settled. I'm going to set up wards. Later, we'll have to talk about what we're going to do, exactly."

He could vaguely hear her in the background, the words soothing in his ear. "_Salvio Hexia...Protego totalum...Muffliato...__Repello Muggletum..._

Magic never ceased to amaze him, as he glanced around the lavishly decorated and surprisingly spacious interior of the tent. Heading over to a well made bunk, he decided to simply rest a while. But the whole ordeal was tiring to think of and sleep was on him in a matter of seconds. He did, however, make out a strangled cry, somewhat in the distance. _I__t's probably the wolf, and the wards have been set up anyway_, he thought, as consciousness slipped away.

* * *

xxx

* * *

"Salvio Hexia...Protego Totalum...Muffliato...Repello Muggletum..." The words tasted familiar on her lips and she smiled at the memory. The forest reminded her strangely of the Forest of Dean, but she didn't dwell too much on the thought. The War was gone and over, there was no need to reminisce. She watched the slumping form of Draco Malfoy trotter slowly towards the tent and go inside. Without a doubt he would be out cold, it was getting late and the remaining shafts of sunlight were struggling against the rigid canopy. Night would be upon them soon, and she made haste to finish the wards as to join him in the tent.

There was a scuffling sound behind them and she whirled around, wand pointing, eyes searching. If she were honest with herself, she was dead sick of that feeling of being on edge, of not knowing when danger was near. It used to bring her a thrill, a heady rush of adrenaline which gave her excitement, however, she'd had enough of that for seven years.

As she squinted into the darkness, she could make out a strange shape, the silhouette of a man, perhaps? But there was something in his stance that made him look not entirely human. Something about the way he carried himself, his walk, his frame, the profile of his face. As the figure stepped into the now growing moonlight, her worst fears were confirmed and she stifled a sharp cry.

There, in the very flesh, seemingly reincarnated, was Fenrir Greyback.

He walked closer and closer to where she cast the wards, his footsteps heavy on the forest floor. His breath came out in long puffs and his eyes appeared beadier than ever. Raising his nose to the sky, he inhaled deeply and sighed contentedly. With painful and bated breath, she took a step backwards, ever so slowly, as if treading on mine-riddled ground. She knew he couldn't see nor hear her, the wards were strong enough against him the first time, but she was scared nonetheless.

"You know, you really need to work on a charm that wards against scents." He snarled. "Had a problem with that last time, innit pretty? Got a nice bit of perfume or whatnot?"

Her eyes widened slowly in horror as she clamped a firm hand on her mouth, not daring to breath.

"How are you, Mudblood? Long time no see, or maybe, I should say, _smell." _

Holding tightly onto her wand, she disillusioned herself and the tent for good measure whilst casting another muffliato charm. Treading softly backwards toward her bag, she grabbed the two bottles of unnamed potion and double checking to see if Malfoy was still sound asleep, continued to walk away from Greyback.

"I've always admired people who cast good wards like these. Pretty hard stuff, if you tell me. It would be a shame if I were to...break it."

Then, with effortless ease, he stepped through the ward. Turning the full force of his gaze upon her, he grinned widely, flashing bloodstained teeth.

"Surprise."

She stood completely motionless, dizzy with fright, her palms perspiring and her heart rate quickening. They were too loud, those heartbeats. How had he gotten through? The ward was, invincible, to say the least. The pit in her stomach seemed to sink lower and lower and the lump in her throat doubled in size. Her feet struggled to hold a still footing and her eyes could not, _would not_, blink.

In a swift movement, he lashed out at her, teeth baring, nails digging into her skin. She let out a strangled cry and fell to the floor, but when she opened her eyes, her skin was unmarked, there was no trace of blood anywhere, and most surprising of all, Greyback was nowhere to be seen. She recalled that his swipe at her hadn't left an imprint either, she did not remember feeling any pain. It was almost as if he went completely _through _her. A figment of her imagination? Some crazy hallucination?

But Greyback was _there. _Fully, seemingly tangibly, and wholly, _there. _She wasn't seeing things. As if to reaffirm her thoughts, a drawn out howl echoed again, this time further away, less menacing.

She ran back towards the wards. They were strong. supposedly untouched. She scanned the entirety of the parameter of the ward, looking for a break or a fissure or _anything _to prove that Greyback indeed had been there, but there was nothing. It was almost as if she had conjured him from the deep recesses of her mind, tapping into her deepest fears, reliving a nightmare...

That was when the thought hit her. She had heard about them, these forests. The Memorans Forests. They had continuous access to your thoughts and would recreate some of your worst memories in an attempt for you to lose sense of reality and question everything that you had ever remembered. In some cases, they prompted you to commit suicide, but those were extremely rare and often unheard of.

A violent shiver ran down her spine at the thought. Surely, this wouldn't be the case - her previous spell had confirmed that they were still on Hogwarts grounds, and besides, Malfoy was with her too. If she really concentrated on what she feared most, Greyback was only a tiny, insignificant little detail, a fly against a lion, a flea on the side of some large animal, the Earth amidst the Milky Way.

Utterly defeated for the evening, she returned to the tent to find a groggy Draco Malfoy sitting on her bunk. She suppressed a giggle behind her hand - the sight was too comical. A Malfoy? Dishevelled? Blasphemy! And to add insult to injury, he was sleeping in a bed with Mudblood cooties. How utterly _awful!_

"Took you long enough. I was beginning to worry." She quirked an eyebrow. _This is interesting. _As if realising his mistake, he quickly added, "Well I don't really care about your well-being - well, I _do_, just not that much, you get my drift - had you disappeared I would lost my one and only link back to normality."_  
_

She exaggerated the roll of her eyes and let out a dramatic sigh. "It must be awful for your parents, the trouble it must take to get you to admit that you miss them. I suddenly have a new-found respect for them. Why didn't I just look at it like that for the past seven years?"_  
_

She was still standing at the entrance to the tent, nervously fidgeting with the flap.

"I ran into Greyback."

"As in werewolf Greyback?"

"As in werewolf Greyback."

She watched as his eyes widened and his posture stiffen. "What, just then?"

She nodded the affirmative. "Just then."

He looked her up and down, as if to check for any visible sign of injury. The action touched her quite profoundly, yet she would never admit that to him. "And you're still alive because?"

She sighed again and sat down on the bunk next to him. "Because he wasn't real."

She could almost hear the wheels turning in his head as his brows furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean, he wasn't real? Listen Granger, if this is some sick joke-"

"No I kid you not - he was _there._ Just not in a comprehensible concrete form. Ah, think of it this way. He was a bit like a patronus, only he wasn't see through or glowing or...blue."

She watched him pinch the bridge of his nose and sigh loudly. "A bit like a ghost then?"

Why didn't she think of that? "Right! Only...he didn't _look _like a ghost. He was a bit like the people in pensives, there but not really there..."

She was slightly surprised when he stood up abruptly and began pacing around the room. "You mean to tell me that we're trapped in some kind of giant pensive thing? That's fucked up Granger, even for you-"

"_Hear me out! _I can prove it to you! I just need to wait-"

Her words were cut short by the sound of flapping fabric in the distant, and she felt, with alarming familiarity, the sudden chill and sense of hopelessness that came whenever she came across them...She heard, with a feeling of utmost dread and terror, the sound she had been least wanting to hear. Of water hardening to ice, of leaves wilting, of a slow steady wind, moving across the floor with ethereal grace.

"Do you feel that?" He whispered.

"Yeah." She replied. "I do."

As long, spindly black fingers began prying back the flap of the entrance, her suspicions were confirmed.

Dementors, and not just the one. She almost began to cry at the futility of the situation, where was _Harry _when she needed him?

As the rest of the body floated into view, she gripped her wand with a trembling hand and pointed it towards the Dementor.

Amidst her desperation, her mind failed to produce a valid happy memory. There were fleeting moments of joy that she would come across, but the hopelessness of the Dementors was so overpowering that each and everyone of them faded and wilted. She witnessed with despair as even the image of her mother's face could not bring about enough joy as to cast a good patronus. As the sweeping figure of the Dementor encroached upon them even more, she shut her eyes in concentration and began to wrack her mind with increasing fervour and impetus. Any memory would do, _anything_. All seemed futile, when at last, a gentle smile flashed before her eyelids and with an ill-screamed _'Expecto Patronum!',_ the patronus burst from her wand, casting away both looming figures and re-instilling hope within them.

As she collapsed, spent from the ordeal, she realised with a sudden clarity that the smile had in fact been Narcissa Malfoy's as she watched her son chase a kite round and round the garden. _The photo, _she recalled, _the one in his room. _There was a sense as if Narcissa Malfoy's smile of tenderness filled the void which had opened up in her heart - the place where her mother had been.

"I know what its doing." She mumbled.

He rolled over on the bunk opposite to face her. "Yeah?"

"It's a Memorans forest. They've got access to our worst memories and they recreate them in order to make us lose or grip on reality." She paused, waiting for him to digest the information. "Tell me, Malfoy. Were you thinking about Dementors at all just then? Because I certainly wasn't."

He furrowed his brow, deep in thought. His eyes widened as realisation dawned on him. "I was! I was thinking about Hogwarts last year and how the Dementors were guarding us...remembering how awful it must've been for those who received the kiss."

She sighed, throwing a slack arm over her eyes. "Then its true then. It's a Memorans Forest."

"A Memorans Forest?" He repeated.

"Mhmm. This whole recreating memories thing - its a game. I read about it somewhere. Technically, the aim of the game is to, well, come out alive."

He scoffed. "Shouldn't that be easy then? So long as we remember that all these weird things aren't real, then that should be fine."

She laughed at the naivety of his words.

"The Dementors, just then, did they look fake at all to you?"

She watched as he opened and closed his mouth again, seemingly regretting his previous comment.

She chuckled. "Just what I thought."

He sat up, watching the entrance to the tent uneasily, then stood up abruptly to refasten it. "So what have the potions got to do with all this then?"

The potions. She had completely forgotten about them since the incident with Greyback. They sat on the floor next to her, mocking her with their clean, unlabelled-ness.

"You know as much as I do. And besides, they haven't proved themselves ultimately necessary have they?"

He shrugged. "I'm lost if you can't think of anything." And then, as if realising how _nice _he had become, he added in a high, mocking voice. "_Lo and behold! I am the Great Hermione Granger. Come worship my brain_ _capacity!_"

She let out a small laugh as he sank back down onto the bunk. "I'm done for the day. Let's talk in the morning." she said, and he nodded the affirmative whilst hearing him sigh dejectedly and roll over.

_You and me both, Malfoy. You and me both. _

As consciousness drifted and sleep overcame her, a pale smiling face with gentle silver eyes came into view, eyes dancing as they watched her chase kites in her dreams.

* * *

xxx

* * *

A/N: Chapter two is finally up! Terribly sorry for the late update - I've been so busy with things that shouldn't have kept me busy which ultimately left me zero time to come back to this. Hopefully the longer chapter will make up for lost time!

As always, reviews are greatly appreciated!

remitto xx


	4. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

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**Chapter Three**

* * *

The air was colder when she woke. It hung lifelessly in the air and settled deep within her bones; the kind of chill that rendered you incapable of moving lest your bones unconglomerate. She wasn't even sure if that was a word, but was too cold to linger on the thought for any longer.

Tentatively, she cracked an eyelid open and inwardly groaned as she realised the ground outside was covered in a fresh blanket of snow. The canvas on the tent caved in, and droplets of melting snow dripped onto her bunk.

"Bloody brilliant." She muttered, groggily moving into a somewhat seated position. She watched, amused, as Draco Malfoy slept soundly on the bunk opposite, lower lip pouting slightly, sheltered by a protruding mantelpiece which held the two unnamed bottles of potions.

"Don't look at me like that. I don't know what you're for – wouldn't it _kill _you to have some labels?" She whispered at the bottles. Squeezing her eyes shut again, she swore under her breath. Talking to inanimate objects – the first sign of insanity.

Gently padding to where her bag lay at the foot of the bed, she rummaged within its unending recesses to find exactly what she needed as her fingers brushed heavy woolen material. Pulling out a long overcoat with a furry trimming, she smiled smugly to herself.

"Good packing Hermione." She whispered. Slipping on her shoes and retrieving her wand, she ventured outside. The snow had fallen thick overnight, the leaves on the pines barely visible under all the white. The sky was obscured by leaden-tinged clouds, and her breaths left small puffs in the air. Her teeth chattered incessantly – it was _disastrously _cold.

In the distance, she could just make out the sound of footsteps crunching on packed in snow. She whipped around, wand pointing aimlessly into the forest.

"_Hermione?"_

Wait a second. She knew that voice.

"Hermione! Is that _you?_"

She turned around to face the direction in which the voice came from. As she squinted into the forest, she could make out two lanky figures, waving.

"Dad?" Hold on, "_Mum?_"

The melodic voice of her mother drifted past her ears, calming her racing heart. But her feeling of warmth and ease was swept away quickly when she recalled that her mother had died, not five weeks ago. That was why she went on this ridiculous adventure. That was why she spent the past month doing nothing and wandering off into her own reserve.

It was another memory, the forest was fooling her, it had to be an illusion - her mother was _dead. _

"Get away from me!" she screamed. "You're not real, go _away!"_ But her screams of protest were picked up by the sudden wind and thrown about the forest as her parents advanced towards her.

"Stay away from me! Don't come any closer, you're not _real!_"

She shielded her eyes from her mother's softening face, but the bond between mother and daughter was so strong she couldn't resist. Her eyes greedily took in her mother's breathing form, the gentle curve of her jaw, the crinkling eyes, the faint lines on her forehead, the graying roots of her hair.

"I can't believe we'd see you here." Her mother began. "I'm so glad we bumped into you." Her mother extended her arms in an invitation for a hug, but she recoiled.

"Stop it!" She shouted covering her eyes and sinking onto the balls of her feet. "You're not real! Y- y-you _died!_"

She did not hear the approaching footsteps. She didn't even hear her mother soothingly whispering her name. All she remembered was the feel of warm arms embracing her in a hug she had sorely missed and the sound of a real quaking heartbeat, solid against her crouching form.

Her mother did not go right through her – this warmth could not have been conjured from the deep recesses of her mind – her mother was wholly, tangibly, alive.

"I was in a coma." Came her mother's gentle reply.

She felt her eyes sting as tears flowed down her cheeks and seeped into the fabric of her mother's shirt. Her hands clutched the fabric tighter, not daring to let her go in the fear that she would disappear before her eyes.

Her mother spoke again, full of mirth. "Come with us. We've got something to show you."

She lifted her head to look at her face, as if placing into memory every little detail she had taken for granted before. She watched as her eyes curved into half-moon shapes upon smiling, the corners wrinkling with the faint lines of crow's feet.

But then with a startling realisation she remembered the tent. And Draco Malfoy, sleeping in the tent. And all the stories she had told her parents about said Draco Malfoy.

"Um, mum?" She whispered.

"Yes sweetheart?"

"I-I'm not here alone." She began. "My fellow head student is in that tent behind me." Her mother didn't seem to notice the deliberate omission of his name. "I can't leave him behind."

Her mother laughed; the sound sending warm shivers down her spine. "We'll be coming back of course." She replied. "I'm only going to borrow you for an hour or two."

That would be fine, she thought. It was early – and if the rumour held any substance, then Draco was not a morning person and would not be up any time soon. An hour wouldn't hurt anyone.

She watched as her mother walked a little distance away, her arm beckoning.

"Come on, he'll be fine!" She called. Still in avid disbelief, she trotted after her mother, Draco Malfoy and the Memorans Forest forgotten for the time being.

* * *

xxx

* * *

They had walked for well over an hour and still seemed no closer than they were to reaching the anticipated destination. Her mind was almost exploding with questions and worries yet her mouth had been unable to form coherent sentences.

"Mum," she finally managed, "Why are you here?"

Her mother faced her, eyes dancing with joy and enthusiasm.

"Don't you remember this? We took a tour here after you had finished reading Pride and Prejudice for the nth time."

She thought hard. "Derby-shire?" She answered incredulously.

Her mother smiled again. "Spot on. I'm glad that all those charms and potions aren't messing with your memory."

Her mind reeled with the opposing circumstances. It was impossible for them to be in Derby-shire – her spell had announced that they were still snugly situated within Hogwarts, (however impossible that may have been) and…and…pines! There were no pines in Derby-shire!

"But…we live in London, what are you doing all the way up in Derby-shire? You can't possibly be going on another tour!"

Her mother didn't answer, and she watched, the pit in her stomach growing ever larger, as her mother's lips pursed and jaw seemed to tighten.

"And I've performed charms and I _know_ we're not in Derby-shire because we're in Hogwarts…Mum, Dad, what exactly are you doing here?"

When her mother didn't reply, she continued.

"This all seems completely bizarre to me because I'm on a school mission – and I assume I'm in some magically charged area – and I found it more than a little strange that you and Dad rock up and say you're touring in Derby-shire? It doesn't make sense."

She hadn't realised that her parents had stopped walking through her monologue. She turned around to face them, questions still at the tip of her tongue.

"And above all that, you were _dead _mum! The doctors pronounced it, and all of a sudden you're alive and well and walking and-"

"Now Hermione," her father spoke, "Give your mum a break, yeah? She's just recovered from a severe coma and this is how you treat her?" He scolded, shaking his head and laying a comforting hand on her mother's shoulder. "I thought we raised you to be better than this."

There was something odd about the way his voice seemed to change tonality as he reprimanded her, but she didn't dwell too much on the thought. It was probably just a cold of sorts…

"I've missed you so much Hermione," her mother sing-songed, "Come."

She didn't budge from her spot. There was a sudden change in atmosphere, a drop in temperature. The wind picked up speed and howled through the bare branches of the pines.

"_Come_." Her mother repeated, her voice echoing strangely with the wind.

She took a tentative step forward. Then another.

She watched, eyes widening in disbelief, as each step towards her mother increased the difference between them. She broke into a run, screaming at the futility of her steps as her parents moved further and further away from her.

"Mum!" she screamed, coming to a halt. "_Mum!"_

But her parents did nothing but smile and walk away, now two tiny figures in the distant, shielded by falling snow and towering pines.

Her heart swelled with a gripping despair and longing as she watched her only family abandon her. She continued staring at the spot where her parents had been, seconds before. Now all that was left was the cold moving air and the disappearing footprints in the snow. She closed her eyes tightly, painfully, in an attempt to block out the sound and the feel of the howling wind as it laughed mercilessly at her lonely figure.

When she opened her eyes, the forest had disappeared without a trace.

All that was left was a barren snow plain that stretched endlessly to all horizons. She looked behind her and realised that all footprints had faded and there were no signs or clues to show how she got here or where the forest went.

But she still had her wand. That was consolation enough. And she was rather deft at Apparating - being on the run made that an imperative - surely this strange place allowed that?

She closed her eyes and concentrated firmly on the caved in tent, but nothing came. No pulling sensation, no disappearance of air. She opened to eyes to find that she had moved not even so much as an inch.

So maybe you couldn't apparate.

Hurriedly casting a warming charm, she began to analyse her current predicament.

But the warmth that she should have felt by now did not come. Alarmed, she cast the charm again, and nothing happened.

"Lumos." She tried, but there was no light.

"Expecto Patronum."

Nothing.

She pointed her wand at a fresh clump of snow.

"Wingardium Leviosa."

Nothing.

"Incendio."

Nothing.

"Accio, _Accio!"_

But her wand showed no signs of working and the familiar rush of magic that would run through her body was not there.

It suddenly occurred to her that meeting her parents was no coincidence. As much as she would have liked to believe it, they weren't really in Derbyshire, and her parents…those parents that she just saw…they weren't real. They had certainly felt real though, she recalled, thinking of the warmth that enveloped her as she hugged her mother.

It was just another sick joke by an equally sick forest – her parents had been conjured up to lure her out to this empty place – they were simply lifelike recreations from her still-vivid memories of home.

"Why me?" She screamed into the frosty air. "_Why me?" _

The sky darkened above and the wolf could be heard again, distant, but there.

And with the sinking feeling of hopelessness settling deep within her bones, she let out a drawn out wail as she realised she was truly, truly alone.

* * *

xxx

* * *

He jerked awake with a start. The nightmare lingered in his mind, the empty face of the dementor still hovering before his eyes. He had never experienced that kind of chill and coldness that close – it truly had felt like all the happiness had left the world and it was a frightening concept.

"Geez, Granger. Still sleeping?" He called over the bunk opposite.

There was no response.

"Oi, Granger. Wake up."

He turned over, expecting to see the huddled form of a sleeping Head Girl, but her bed was empty and much to his intrigue, her wand was nowhere to be seen either.

He scrambled out of his bunk quickly and tiptoed across the floor, cursing under his breath as the coldness of the ground pricked his feet. He thrust his arm under the covers of her bed – the sheets were cold. She had been gone for a while.

Had she found a way out of this place and selfishly left him be? Was this retribution for his ceaseless taunting over the years?

_She wouldn't do that. _His mind scolded him. _She's not you. _

Maybe she'd left to find food or something.

Maybe she'd just gone for a walk.

Maybe he'd just wait for a while until she came back. There was no point worrying so much. Surely she wouldn't leave without taking that trusty endless bag of hers, and besides, they were in this together and her bloody noble Gryffindor loyalty wouldn't leave without notice.

Together. The word felt foreign to him, yet there was no denying the fuzzy feeling that was slowly spreading its way across his chest because of it. He had never been part of something without ulterior motives. It was refreshing, and dare he say it, _nice. _

But then the problem struck him. _Clothes. _He hadn't packed any and it was much too cold to go about in what he was wearing at the moment. He glanced over at the small beaded bag that lay at his feet. Perhaps she packed him something, being the over-prepared know-it-all girl that she was.

He picked it up tentatively. Drawing out his wand, he pointed it at the entrance and whispered an 'Accio Clothes.'

He was hit in the face with an entire wardrobe of shirts, coats, pants, and much to his disbelief, rather appealing looking underwear. He stifled a smirk and went about sorting what was hers and what was his.

He was surprised when he came across a rather large coat which he recognised as the one he had worn the day they had left Hogwarts. It warmed him to know that she had considered his needs as well. He wasn't used to being looked after, and as much as he appreciated (to an extent) his spoilt upbringing, he realised that there lacked a certain kind of camaraderie when his friends were involved. There was none of this, 'I've got your back' kind of thing, and he suddenly felt at a loss of his seventeen years of fruitless friendships.

Quickly shrugging the coat on, he made haste to check out the rest of the tent. It was larger than he thought, complete with a kitchen and another bedroom and a living area. There were other articles of male clothing that were strewn lazily across the couch and he felt a sudden stab of unwarranted jealousy.

_Of course, _he remembered. _She went camping with her boy toys last year. _

It was much too red and gold for his liking however, but was grateful for the tent nonetheless. He knew when to swallow his pride – the tent looked much more appealing than the forest.

Once he had finished touring the tent, he sat down on his bunk and ran a hand languidly through his hair. There really wasn't much to do when she wasn't around – as grating as her voice had been on his nerves, it kept him company and sane knowing that he was surely alive if he could still hear her. His gaze betrayed him as it wandered towards the small beaded bag that lay at his feet. It wasn't as if she was here to admonish him, and besides, her footsteps were loud enough for him to be warned should she return soon.

He lifted the bag onto his lap and almost jumped back in fright at the sound of clanging metal and tumbling…things…that seemed to come from within. Dropping a curious hand inside, he was astonished to discover a whole array of objects; half the Hogwarts library, assorted utensils, clothes and more clothes, cooking pans, matches, miscellaneous muggle objects of the like. His hands brushed a piece of scrunched up parchment, the feel of the pages oddly familiar, and brought it into sight.

It was the notes they had received from their anonymous writer. He eyed the bottles warily from the other side of the room.

_For use when in need. Take a swig or nothing at all._

His fingers itched to try the potion – they were stuck in a place Merlin knows where with only memories and axe-murderers for company. He shivered slightly at the thought. But it wasn't as if he_ really _needed the potion. He was healthy and fine and nothing had happened to him.

Maybe it was some life-saving elixir should they find themselves in mortal danger. Or maybe it was a weapon. What if it was poison? He tossed the pieces of parchment aside. There was no use getting on edge at nothing whatsoever.

He was about to crawl back into his bunk when the sound of a snapped twig jolted him from his task.

"Granger?"

The footsteps grew louder.

"Thanks for abandoning me like that. I thought you'd gone off and gotten eaten by Greyback or something. I thought you Gryffindors were supposed to be trustworthy or something."

And louder.

"Not that I care, really, it's just that well you've got food and water and-"

There was a violent pulling back of the tent flap, and standing at the entrance in all his blonde glory, was a very polished and very angry-looking Lucius Malfoy.

"What on earth do you think you're doing here Draco?! I am sorely disappointed in you, running off into the woods with the Granger girl no less. And it's not even the bloody holidays yet!"

To say he was surprised would have been the understatement of the century.

"Father?" He cried incredulously.

Lucius Malfoy rolled his eyes with as much dignity as one could when rolling eyes. "No, it's your mother. Who do I look like to you?" He sneered. "But that's beside the point. What I want to know is why you've decided to go for a little frolic in the woods, in the middle of the _school term _no less, living like Neanderthals, _in a tent_."

Draco swallowed loudly.

"Umm…"

Lucius stomped into the room, his blonde mane a devilish halo.

"Never mind. Your mother is waiting in the carriage just outside the tent."

Wait, his mother was here too?"

He frowned at his father. "What is mother doing out here?"

"Your mother went into a right fit when she heard you had left school. She decided-"

"Wait, where exactly did you hear this?"

His father narrowed his eyes. "Don't-"

"-question you father. Yes. I got it."

He took one more glance at the inside of the tent. Should Granger return to find him not here, she would have his head before he could even graduate. And besides, he felt funny for leaving the poor chit all alone in some fucked up woods.

"Well, you see father, Granger and I are kind of on this…task. I can't just leave her."

"Can't leave her? Why of course you can! She's left you already obviously."

"What are you on about-"

"Never mind with all this nonsense." His father interrupted. "Your mother is getting impatient in the carriage. Have you got your things?"

He looked towards the beaded bag and the potions on the shelves. Should he leave, he may as well take the rest of the things. Clearly, Granger's priorities were messed up when she left the tent without her valuables. He grabbed the beaded bag and threw the potions in.

"I'm done."

His father threw a disapproving glance towards the bag. "What is that wretched thing?"

He hesitated before answering. "Just something I picked up at school."

His father didn't seem convinced, but stayed silent nonetheless. As he left the tent, he couldn't help but feel a sense of uneasy guilt wash over him. What if she came back and saw him leave? Would she die out here? What if she could never find her way back to Hogwarts?

But any decision to go back to the tent would have been fruitless now, as the carriage lurched forward and began accelerating at incredible speeds. The pines whipped past in a hazed blur and he could hear nothing but the sound of the wind rushing past his ears as they left the woods behind.

The softly falling snow stung his cheeks as they sped past.

"Where are we going Father?"

His father continued staring straight ahead, eyes stormy. "Home."

He furrowed his brows, deep in thought. "How did you find me?"

"Again, with the questions."

He turned his head away. _Bloody grumpy git. _

He tried focusing on the road ahead, but all he could think of was Granger and that niggling feeling of guilt that was eating away at his stomach. It left a bitter taste in his mouth and his palms suddenly grew clammy.

How the hell would she get out of this place?

"Father." He asked. "I have to go back."

His father didn't reply.

"Father did you hear-"

"-I heard you perfectly fine." He motioned to the driver. "Let him down."

He stared wide-eyed. His father never agreed to his wishes without an argument. This was rare, and as much as it came as a welcome surprise, it was also strange, and the slightest bit creepy too.

He stumbled off the carriage, slipping on the icy floor beneath him.

"Thanks Father-"

But before the word of gratitude left his lips the carriage had sped away.

It was then that he realised that the forest had retreated with the carriage and his parents were nowhere to be seen.

"Father?" He called. But the only thing that answered him back was the bitter whirling of the wind and the distant howling of a lone wolf. There was not a single pine tree in sight. The barren ice-plain stretched out to all horizons.

The sky darkened ominously and his hand tightened around his wand.

"Nice one forest. I don't know what sort of bloody magic you've got going on here but I'd really appreciate it if you could return me to my tent."

His parents, that carriage, the disappearing forest. It was all one big sick trick and now he was stuck on his own on a deserted snow plain with nothing but a bag full of everything he would ever need-

The beaded bag.

Thank Merlin above! He'd completely forgotten about the small bag that was clutched tightly in his left hand. He was almost about to do a small victory dance upon the ice when violent coughing forced him to turn around.

He wasn't alone. There was a shapeless lump that lay about twenty metres ahead of him. The lump coughed.

"Hello?"

He drew his wand, walking ever so slowly towards the figure that lay sprawled on the ground.

"I come on friendly terms. Turn around." He called.

The figure on the ground shifted, and he caught sight of a bloodied leg.

"Shit." He whispered, rushing over and throwing all caution to the wind.

He lifted the heavy blood-soaked material off the person's face and nearly threw up in shock.

"Oh God, Granger…"

* * *

xxx

* * *

A/N: It's been a while and I won't blame you if you've lost tabs with the story...But as a note, Chapter Four will be up soon to make up for the lack of updates.  
As always, reviews are greatly appreciated! Let me know that this is being read so I know I'm not just hopelessly sending this into the interwebs.

remitto x


	5. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I think we're all pretty clear that I don't own Harry Potter by now. *wipes away a stay tear*

* * *

**Chapter 4**

* * *

This was it, she thought. She'd survived seven years of near death experiences fighting the most powerful dark wizard in all history only to be killed by something that wasn't even real.

She had to move. The ground was so cold.

Maybe she would turn into a werewolf. Greyback's bite had been vicious enough, she was pretty sure that he had taken a hearty swipe of her neck. Wasn't that what happened with Remus and Bill?

_Remus, _the name brought a fresh wave of something painful – there was that aching sensation behind her eyes, that pulling feeling in her chest, that drying out of the throat. But she couldn't cry now. She'd probably be seeing them soon anyway. Tonks, Fred…

She tried to move her fingers, but they had frozen with the cold. If only she was warm and well enough to write, she could have left a dying eulogy for some wanderer to find centuries later.

She hadn't even written her will. She wasn't going to fall in love, get married, have children. She wasn't going to have graying hair or grow old with her partner.

She didn't even say goodbye to Harry or Ron. She wasn't going to see Ginny get married. A new onslaught of grief took over her. Why was dying such a laborious process?

Something akin to the sound of footsteps filtered its way into ears. Maybe it was God coming to greet her and take her up into heaven. But where was the symphony of angels? The fanfare of late relatives? The shining halo?

"Nice one forest. I don't know what sort of bloody magic you've got going on here but I'd really appreciate it if you could return me to my tent."

Maybe Malfoy had died too. That would be the only reason why his irking voice was lingering in her ears. Maybe he was following her into the afterlife to annoy her for the rest of eternity. Maybe that was the punishment for getting that one question in the Charms paper wrong.

A great spasm rocketed its way through her and she heaved, coughing violently. She could feel something warm, much like bile rise up in her throat, only to recoil at the tangy metallic taste.

To add insult to injury, she was probably going to choke on her own blood.

The footsteps drew nearer.

"Hello?"

That was definitely Malfoy. Maybe she had just suffered a serious concussion and was now just hallucinating.

"I come on friendly terms. Turn around." He called.

She tried to, but her bones were so stuck with cold that she could only manage to extend a leg, and even then, it was torturous.

He must have seen her move, for she could hear the footsteps quickening as he drew nearer. A warm hand cradled her head gently as his fingers removed the hood of her coat.

"Oh God, Granger…" He murmured. His hands were everywhere, unsure of what to do.

"Tell me you have dittany in that endless bag of yours. I'm going to be sorely disappointed if you fail on all counts of preparedness."

She almost snorted had her neck allowed her, and managed a curt nod.

She heard him rummaging through the bag and then huff in annoyance. "Accio dittany."

She could hear the little bottle pushing its way through all of the unnecessary junk in her bag and fly into his hands. She would have laughed if someone had told her that Draco Malfoy would one day save her life. It was definitely a comical idea, but now, lying in the lap of her ex-arch nemesis, she couldn't have felt safer. And that in itself was even more comical than the previous notion. She snuggled deeper into his lap and her mind reeled against the idea. But she was probably going barmy anyway, why deny the inevitable? And since when was Draco Malfoy so warm? She'd always thought that his skin would be frozen to the touch. He had that way about him, the look of ice, the aspect of winter.

"Where Granger?" She didn't move. His lap was too comfortable.

She felt him shift awkwardly underneath her. "No, don't snuggle, tell me where you're hurt."

She made a slight motion towards her neck.

"Neck?"

She nodded.

There was the sound of the cap unscrewing and the feel of droplets searing on her skin. The relief was almost instant, but in its wake it left a horrible sensation of weightlessness and colours danced before her eyes.

She was going to pass out if he didn't heal her soon.

His hands were suddenly on her sides. "Fuck, Granger, you're still bleeding. Where else?"

Something burrowed its way deep into her chest and tugged at her heartstrings. If she was right, then that was _concern_ laced in Draco Malfoy's voice, and she had to admit, it was the most touching thing she had ever heard. Or maybe it was just her near delusional brain making things up. Either way, it was still nice.

But she was too tired to answer him. Motioning languidly towards her abdomen, he got the point and made quick work of getting through the fabric. She squirmed at the intimate turn of events, but now was no time to be getting frumpy.

"Oh stop it, it's not like I'm bedding you, I just need to get these blasted clothes off…"

He stopped suddenly. Was something wrong?

"Holy shit Granger." He murmured, pulling her closer. "You're butchered."

She would have laughed at his statement, but all the humour had drained from his voice. She knew the wound was ugly, she could feel it, that sensation of almost being sliced in half, but the cold had since numbed the pain and all she could feel was something akin to…displacement.

She heard the drops sear on her skin again, and was only just aware of the healing wound. But suddenly the dark became too all-encompassing and she gave way to sleep.

* * *

xxx

* * *

He ghosted his fingers over her marred skin. It was chilling to see her like that. How had she obtained such wounds? How was she still even alive?

Alive.

His mind went into overdrive when he remembered that she had sustained severe blood loss and was probably going to die anyway.

He needed a blood replenishing lotion, and _fast. _

"Accio Blood Replenishing Potion."

Nothing.

He should have known that she couldn't have packed every potion in the entire infirmary, but to say he was frustrated would have been an understatement.

Why did he care so much anyway? It wasn't as if she held any weight in his heart afterall-

_But she does, _he told himself. He'd known her for seven years, but when he put things in perspective, he had only _really _known her for about a term, and to say that she didn't bury deep would have been a lie.

His finger moved to gauge her pulse and was alarmed to find that it was faint and fading fast.

"Come _on, _Granger." He whispered, shaking her slightly. Her chest rose and fell with each small breath, growing fewer and further between, and for the first time in his life, felt the overpowering sensation of futility and hopelessness, of desperation, guilt, sorrow. He'd made a first friend in her and damned would he be if he lost that.

But then the idea occurred to him and he raced to find the mysterious label-less bottle.

_For use when in need. Take a swig or nothing at all._

If there was ever a greater time for need then it was now. Unscrewing the bottle with trembling fingers, he tilted her chin up and poured the silvery liquid down her throat.

"Come on Granger, _breathe._"

He waited with bated breath for what seemed like an eternity when suddenly there was a great rush of colour to her cheeks, she choked and her eyes fluttered open. She wretched, heaving the remains of the clogged blood and bile onto the icy floor beside them and collapsed, spent in his arms.

He recoiled sharply at the sight of the clotted blood freezing fast on the ice. He didn't want to be shallow, but _merlin _was that disgusting.

"Malfoy," He heard her whisper, and his attention was quickly drawn back to the figure on his lap, "Thank you."

He almost cried with relief. It was disturbingly unnatural for him to be so emotional and given any other situation he would have berated himself over and over again, but this time, he didn't try to stop the swooping feelings of elation and gratitude.

"Don't you think about pulling a stunt like that again." He tried to sound scornful, but he knew his hands that were cradling her head betrayed his voice. "We got in this together and we're getting out together, alright?"

She shifted slightly in his lap, voice raspy, "What's with the change of heart Malfoy? You were hardly the most motivational gentleman before this."

He felt the corners of his lips tug upwards. "I want to die with my hands clean."

She smiled softly, eyes closed. "If you're sure Malfoy."

He pulled her closer. "I'm sure."

* * *

xxx

* * *

When she next woke, she was encased in something warm and solid and the coldness had disappeared. The lingering pain had not lifted yet, and she ran a hand absentmindedly over the angry scars on her abdomen and neck. She felt completely drained and her limbs trembled as she moved.

Opening her eyes wider, she observed that the sky was growing darker, and the campfire (or what she assumed to be a campfire) beside her cast dancing shadows of the pines on the forest floor.

Wait, shadows?

Forest floor?

She bolted upright and almost regretted it instantly, the wounds screaming in protest and she sank back down into her comfortable makeshift bedding. Shifting on the floor, she looked around, finding herself cocooned in a sleeping bag beside a well fueled campfire.

The snow plain had disappeared and the forest had returned. Was last night all a dream? Malfoy healing her, holding her…

"Don't shit yourself Granger – it wasn't a dream. And it's good to see you awake." He was beside her in a second, a mug of something nice and steaming and hot brought to her lips.

He sat down beside her and stoked the fire lazily. The warm light did wonderful things to his face, she mused, taking in the sight of seemingly glowing blonde hair and the handsome contours of his face. He turned around to face her.

"I was worried that you wouldn't wake up fully."

She looked at him questioningly. "Fully?"

"You would sort of open your eyes for about two seconds and close them again."

She had no recollection whatsoever of awakening and pondered over her unusual sleep behaviour.

"How long have I been out?"

"Almost two weeks. I was scared I'd put you in a coma with that ridiculous potion."

She laughed a little to herself. But then a sense of dread washed over her as she began running through the events that clouded her mind.

She gathered the sleeping bag towards her chest. "How do I know you're not an illusion?"

His brow creased and a flicker of something similar to worry passed his eyes, but it was gone so quickly that she couldn't be sure that it existed at all.

"Listen here Granger and listen good. You're an annoying bint of a bookworm and you have this insatiable need to answer every single question. I would throw 'mudblood' into the whole mix as well, but I think you get my point fair enough. Have I convinced you that I am the real Draco Malfoy?"

She would have been stung by his words, but when she caught sight of his amused smirk all feelings of hurt were washed away.

She narrowed her eyes slightly. "Not entirely. Where are we right now?"

"I don't know." He countered quickly.

She let out a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding. "Good."

"Good?" he questioned. "How is that good?"

She sat up straighter and gathered the sleeping bag around her. "So when I spent all that time on the snow plain alone, I was doing some thinking-"

He scoffed beside her. "Like that's new."

She cut him off with a wave of her hand. "No time to get cocky – anyways, as I was saying, I was doing some thinking and I've come to the conclusion that all the…fake people that we meet here seem to have an extremely certain grounding that they know exactly where they are, or, they avoid the question entirely."

She watched as he seemed to ponder her bit of information carefully. "You know what, I think you're right. I met my parents when you had disappeared – by the way, what the hell happened to you? Are you still hurting?" His tone quickly changing from indifference to concern. It touched her to no end – who knew Draco Malfoy could be half decent?

"Tell me about your parents first. Then I'll tell you what happened to me."

He seemed a little hesitant to continue. "…fine. So I wander around your tent trying to think of something to do, when my father pulls up outside and demands that I go with him."

"Your…dad…" she repeated.

"Yes, my "dad". Which I'm fairly certain was another sick memory trick by the forest. But I wasn't aware of it then because I was so wrapped up in the shock of seeing my parents that I went along with them. I asked him how he managed to find me and he told me not to ask any questions, and so I didn't, because if you know anything about my father…he's a bloody politician when it comes to answers."

She chuckled lightly and motioned for him to continue.

"We were leaving the tent in a carriage and I asked to be let down because, well, I couldn't leave you behind."

Her heart tugged at the idea but she brushed the feeling away and laughed beside him. "Purely because you need me for food and shelter and all the necessities right?"

"Of course." He smirked, "But anyway, I asked to be let down and he complied, and the strangest thing happened. The bloody forest started disappearing at the speed in which the carriage was travelling, and by the time the carriage was out of sight, so was the forest."

"And then you found me."

His smile hit her with the force of a herd of angry manticores. It was boyish and lopsided and almost goofy and it completely undid her. "And then I found you."

They sat in amiable silence for a while, watching the fire flicker gently.

"So tell me what happened to you."

She drew a deep breath. "From the beginning?"

He smirked, "No, because you're an unconventional woman and you're going to start in the middle and confuse the hell out of everyone. Of course at the bloody beginning!"

A month ago, the sentiment would have made her blood boil with unwarranted rage. But now she could only find it within her to laugh – she was getting used to his sardonic ways and she had never anticipated that in her lifetime.

And so she told him everything. Her mother, ending up on the snow plain with no magic…

"So I spent about an hour pacing around the damned ice-rink trying to find a way out, when I see him."

He swallowed audibly. "Greyback?"

She nodded. "And he wasn't alone."

She watched as he closed his eyes and drew in a long breath. "My aunt?"

"Your aunt." She confirmed, breathing in a shuddering breath. The memory was so vivid and she flinched at the pain. Was it possible to recoil from yourself?

His eyes were still closed. "That cut on your abdomen?"

Her voice wavered slightly and she felt that pricking sensation behind her eyes as they began to water.

"Yeah."

He opened his eyes and stared intently at the ugly scar on her neck. "And that? Greyback?"

"Yeah," she nodded, "Your aunt kept on going on about 'the one that got away' and did this weird feral dance. I was so scared that I laughed out of shock, which I think your aunt interpreted as me mocking her."

She heard him hiss through his teeth. "And then…"

She ran a hand idly across the scar on her abdomen. "Let's just say that I got butchered." She drew in another shuddering breath before continuing. "The crazy thing was, I thought I wasn't injured because they weren't even real, and I wasn't even anticipating the pain, and then it all came crashing down at once and…and…"

She let her voice trail away, unsure of how to continue. How was she supposed to tell him that she saw him there with them? Standing stoically to the side, apathetic - much like how he had done at the Manor - not that she blamed him or anything. But she knew it wasn't him. The image of him would flicker, much like a hologram, and grow translucent with every blink of her eyes.

It was almost as if this weird place was trying to tell her that it was an illusion.

She sank back down into the sleeping bag. "There's not much point dwelling on it really. If anything, the forest might pick it up and replay it."

He turned to face the fire again. "I don't know how you do it."

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Do what?"

"Stay so calm. You almost_ died._"

"I _was _scared." She whispered, her voice lingering in the space between them. "I'd never felt so hopeless in my life."

She edged closer to the fire, suddenly uncomfortable with how deep the conversation was turning.

"But somehow, in the back of my head, I knew that I was going to make it out. And I'm comforted by the fact that it wasn't actually real, you know? As much as my wounds say otherwise, I could tell that Bellatrix and Greyback weren't real. They just…weren't."

She let out a long sigh and let her eyelids flutter shut. "What's it to you anyway? You're hardly like the Draco Malfoy I know."

She opened her eyes, only to find him staring determinedly into the fire.

"I'm thankful for everything, really, Malfoy. You were the last person in the world I could think of to willingly save my life."

His shoulders stiffened at her words, and his gaze seemed colder, sharper.

"I would be lying to say that this is easy for me." He started, his voice suddenly solemn. "This. Talking. Looking out for each other. As much as it would hurt you if I said this, I did truly believe in blood supremacy. I wasn't forced to become a Deatheater. I joined _willingly._ I was so wrapped up in the ideology of being powerful that I didn't hesitate as soon as the opportunity arose. As twisted as it sounds, I truly believed that I could be someone – someone needed, someone people could depend on."

She shifted closer to him. It had suddenly grown cold. "But…"

"But it didn't take long for me to find out how horrible it was. I remember seeing the thestrals for the first time – it was almost as if life was mocking me – _cheers Draco, a toast to a life of death._"

She waited for him to continue. His hands clenched at his sides and he absently fiddled with his left forearm.

"Sixth Year?"

"Yeah. I remember being bitter about everything. I felt like my life had been a lie."

A soft chuckle escaped her lips. "You know, Harry and Ron were convinced that you had become…one of them. But I was so sure that you weren't. We fought about it for ages. Even when you broke Harry's nose and sent that necklace with Katie Bell, I was still vehement that you hadn't become a deatheater."

She paused to draw in a deep breath.

"But then that night at the Astronomy tower, with Dumbledore, Snape, I remember Harry telling me about you pulling up your sleeve and… my heart almost seemed to shatter."

He frowned. "Why did you care?"

She pondered on her answer. "I guess – I guess I think at that moment, I thought you were beyond help and I realised that this whole skirmish with the Dark Lord was not just a game for three naïve students and a misguided boy to play. It was, essentially, choose sides or run for your life."

His eyes seemed to fog over then, and it was years later until she would come to realise that it was the sheen of unshed tears. "I'd spent my entire life up until that point wholeheartedly believing in an ideology that wasn't true. I felt betrayed. I was so _angry._"

She turned that new piece of information over in her head. "Yet you continued to fight for them."

"What else was I supposed to do?" He spat, his tone becoming increasingly biting. "I was too far in to have a choice in the matter."

"You always have a choice-"

"Not then, I didn't!"

His stubbornness filed her suddenly with an unwarranted rage. "Of course you did! You could've come over to us! You could have fought for us! The Order would have been more than welcome-"

"You forget Granger," he snarled, looking away, "I had a family. I _have_ a family – I didn't love my parents for what they had done, no, but I did love them in _spite _of everything. My mum saved Potter's life just to find _me._ I couldn't leave even if I wanted to."

He seemed to calm down then, for his tone was softer when he spoke. "I don't expect you to understand." He sighed, all of a sudden weary. "You don't know what it's like to almost lose family."

She could tell that he regretted his words as soon as he said them, but she couldn't care less. A sudden wave of loss and pain and fury crashed onto her and she felt her eyes burn. She wouldn't cry in front of Draco Malfoy. She _couldn't. _

"Don't expect me to understand?" She started, voice breaking. "Don't expect _me?_"

His face was apologetic then, "Granger, I didn't mean-"

"Forget it." She cut off, "It's not like you know or anything. I shouldn't expect anything of you."

The tension between them was thick now, and the silence was uncomfortable. She heard him draw in a deep breath.

"Tell me then." He whispered back. "Tell me so I know."

She shook her head, eyes stinging, but he was persistent.

"I-I didn't mean to hurt you. I was ignorant. Now tell me before I hurt you again."

She laughed at the irony in his words. How many times had he hurt her before? When that dreaded word that started with 'm' left his lips…it was like someone had sectumsempra'd her every time.

"Well," she began, suddenly at a loss of what to say. "Before Harry, Ron and I went on the run, I modified my parents to believe they were entirely different people – Monica and Wendell Wilkins – and made it their lifetime ambition to move to Australia. So they would be safe. Away from me."

He paused, waiting for her to continue.

"You see, Monica and Wendell didn't know they had a daughter."

"You mean-"

"-I made them forget about me so they'd be in the least amount of trouble."

She cast a brief glance at him, and noted that he had suddenly gone very pale.

"After the war was over, I went back to find them and revert the memory changes. They were furious at me, but they came around, eventually."

To her horror her voice broke again and she made a futile attempt to clear her throat. "Soon after I'd left Australia, my mum had a sudden rupture of a brain aneurysm she didn't even know she had. It was fatal."

She sat up again, eyelids drifting to a close, her mother's kind face floating into view.

He spoke. "You miss her."

She hardened her resolve. But her voice belied her composure and she stifled back a sob. "I do_._" She whispered, voice wavering._ "So much." _

She watched as he rested his head on his knees, drawing his arms around him. "Sometimes I think we take our parents for granted." He responded, drawing random figures in the dirt around him. "But I don't think I truly understood the importance of family until my father decided that chasing after the Dark Lord was more important than his wife and his son. He was just too consumed in pureblood propaganda to realise that all he needed in his life was already here."

He paused, raking a trembling hand through his unkempt hair.

"It's taken me long enough to come out of being a royal pain in arse. I've been stupid too many times and I hate it."

He paused, as if deliberating over the worth of his words.

"I'm sorry."

For a while they sat there, watching the fire flicker and cast golden light throughout the forest. Neither of them said anything, and that was fine with her. The promise of companionship hung in the air between them – an unspoken agreement, a mutual concession.

She shifted so she was sitting right next to him, and with slight trepidation and awkwardness, lowered her head onto his shoulder.

Smiling softly, she spoke.

"That's got to be the best thing I've heard all year."

* * *

A/N: The fourth chapter, posted slightly earlier as promised! Please read and review! If you can take the time to follow the story then please drop me a few words, anything will do! Any writers out there will know how much a review means, I truly treasure every single one of them and nothing makes me happier than hearing from you!

Also, kudos to anyone who can spot the sneaky tracy chapman quote in there :)

remitto xx


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